Meditate
by At A Venture
Summary: A timeless confrontation between two lovers.


Meditate

Bright orange and maple brown paint the sky as leaves flutter to the cobbled street. A sweeping breeze drags fingers of cold around her nape and shoulders, carrying away slivers of blond from the tumble of hair held tight against her crown. Shivers betray the captivity with which she carries herself, strong and restricted from emotion. She is power and she is strength, though somewhere beneath her exterior, her heart still feels a chill.

A few stray seedlings pull free from their branches and race to catch up with her on the lingering wind. They twirl and tumble, catching at the hem of her skirt and licking at the bare skin beneath. She bends down, pulling them away to be discarded, lifeless, on the ground. A tingling, a thought alights behind her cornea. Her senses twitch. Her lips purse, just briefly. Though she does not turn nor move to stand, she knows she is no longer alone.

"Why did you come here?" She's inclined to ask, now that her lonely walk is cut short.

"You look cold," he replies in earnest, bowing his head slightly to greet her. She does not face him, does not turn to look over her shoulder. Instead, she shivers in silence, allowing the rustling breeze to lift her hem about her knees.

"I'm fine."

"I missed you." He removes his coat and moves toward her, holding it out over his hand. The arms of the duster brush against the torso, imitating the sounds of the season.

"You can't be here." She appears to be fighting her own inclination to face him now. Just barely, her figure seems to shake. Her shoulders falter and lower. Her arms wrap around her chest to hold herself together.

"I know." He's defeated and there's no excuse. There are no reasons to be here, no good reasons to disturb that tiny ounce of peace she seems to have found. A few oak leaves shed from their tree to the ground, leaving a pattern of gold in a path of reds and browns. He watches them fall, staring longingly at the sight of beauty among waste.

"It's light." The words escape her like an exhaled breath. Her cheek turns, begging the rest of her body to follow. She's slow, awkward, detached. Each movement is new and unusual, as though a fawn taking his first steps. Blue eyes, clear as crystal, reflect the cloudiness overhead, a storm rolling in over the afternoon. He has bent to one knee now, dropped the forgotten coat to the ground, and turned his attention to the discarded leaves.

"I'm dreaming." She admits at last, a slight frown forming across her pale lips. A few stray fingers brush a lock of hair from her cheek, pushing it back behind her ear. It remains tucked for a moment before working free again.

"You're not dreaming." He replies, returning to his feet. He stays but a foot from her, as though unsure whether or not to move closer. They remain for several moments, only staring, only considering the consequences. To move closer or to remain tight and guarded, far apart? As though he doesn't believe it himself, he glances up at the sky and back down at her. "We're not dreaming."

She lifts her chin, revealing a gaze now misted with tears. There are only inches between them now, movements as natural as breathing bringing them close. Fear of the unknown grips the pair of lovers, torn apart and shaken by so much grief, so much loss. Perhaps life is never meant to bring them happiness. Perhaps this love is never meant to last. Yet, she raises her eyes to stare into him, uprooting his soul and binding it to her heart.

"It's light," he whispers, bending his mouth to hers. Though it has been many, countless years, home lies in that space where they exist. Streams of her tresses dance along his cheek and throat. His hands cup her face to ensure her closeness. Lips part and mouths surge. Heat trickles through her veins, warming the skin from within, tingling. Sweetness transforms to passion. Bodies flow between dewy blades of grass, touching, intertwining. Overhead, storm clouds break. Swirls of steam lift from her skin.

Perhaps life is never meant to bring them together. Perhaps this love is never meant to last. Perhaps their bodies are not their own, but belong to the world. Perhaps evil is best fought with love.


End file.
